I was a terrible zombie.
That is truly an awful way to start this story, as I'm sure you misinterpreted it in one way or the other, but since that is how it is supposed to begin I will attempt to explain and then move on.
In life he called himself Rob, but your name is one of the many things you forfeit when you die, which creates a very practical problem for the undead. In death the zombie called himself "I" and so shall we.
Also, the adjective terrible, when attcehd to the noun zombie typically evokes images of violent, brain-stealing attacks on the living. However this is entirely normal zombie behavior. What made I terrible was the fact that he was simply no good at violent, brain-stealing attacks, and had in fact not succeeded once after 3 weeks of zombiehood.
Most people don't know that while zombies do have an instinct from creation to noisily devour brains, they are not innately evil and savage. It is actually the brains themselves that create a violent addiction.
So long had I gone without, that he discovered he was quite able to survive on a vegetarian diet. He had taken to raiding farms at night for tomatoes, and occasionally broccoli.
Though I was a terrible zombie, one would not have guessed by the look of him. His hair was dirty, brown and patchy. His face was grey and grim. His skin was wrinkly in some places, tight in other places, and missing in all the rest of the places. His eyes were deeply sunken but gave a pale yellow glow when looked at from straight on. His fingers were elongated and sharp as knives, and on another zombie would be used to cut open skulls to reach their juicy centers. All that was left of I's burial clothes were a mere splash of rags draped over his thin body, which revealed a pleasant assortment cuts, wounds and abbrasions to include a hole in his gut from which dangled a loop of his semifunctional intestines.
As I was ambling down a dark country road, having just plundered some kale, Karen Yassup D.D.S. was speeding towards him. She was driving a BMW with the license plate "TUTH FIXR", and a plush tooth knight armed with toothbrush javelin dangling from the rearview. She hated her job, but the politics involved in the dark, secretive world of dentistry required a certain level of conformity.
All of that to get to this stupid story.
As she rounded a corner she caught a human outline in her headlights, leaning wearily on a fence. In what can only be called "stupid horror movie logic" she pulled over to see if the person was okay.
She rolled down the window, and leaned out to yell "Are you okay?"
When he turned, she let out her obligatory blood-curdling scream and quickly stepped on the gas. Just as the car stalled. She flooded the engine. He was walking towards her now, moaning in that way that zombies do. She tried the ignition. Nothing. She could see his terrible dirty teeth in rotten gums and had all the more reason to hate him. Still the ignition wouldn't turn over. I touched the window and leaned down to peer in. Vroom. She pealed away, but clipped a tree about 100 yards down and flipped off the road into the ditch.
As he approached the upturned vehicle, I was unsure of what to do. Suddenly there was a muffled explosion and flames shot out from car's undercarriage. Fire: the only thing zombies fear.
But inside I there was a terrible turmoil brewing. A feeling that most zombies wouldn't recognize. Something left over from before his death, perhaps.
He ducked beneath the flames, ripped off the car door, and pulled the poor dentist to safety.
She was injured but not badly, more importantly though she was alive. She took his hand (which came off in her own) looked deep into his eye sockets, and said "Oh, zombie, I've misjudged you. I don't know how to thank you."
"Rargh" I said.
"Well, you are kind of cute. Maybe a mortal and a... aw screw it! Kiss me you ghoul!"
She pulled him close, pressing her warm lips to the hole in his decomposed face.
And then he ate her brain.